Enticing flavor, Goddess of passion

Duvet’s comfort,

gaping at the quill,

in the quest for freedom

sidling on the pathway,

under the shade of the jamoon tree,

fresh stroke of air,

soggy sensation

thumping heart beat,

strutting birds in pecking order,

wisp of smoke curled,

spun with the sea breeze

An amorous sensation,

gentle drizzle plopped inside the steamy tea

Perfume of tender flower,

whirring at the nostril’s edge


rapture of senses,

Scent of the unknown,

enticing flavor,

intriguing steps,

flitting like light

she can’t be love!

Greek Goddess of passion?!













Book Review: Love & Vodka is wine to the mind

Christina Strigas is a wonderful friend, based in Montreal and her poems are gems that make sensuality a powerful affair. I’ve been off book reviews for a while but sometimes, you need a friend to kick the lazy bum that you are into action. I took a hell long time to do the review and reading the book but when I did, it flew like gentle breeze of caress. Chrissy words on her blogs can inspire someone to create poetry out of nothing and do subscribe on her space. Apologies for taking so long to put the review. Here you are:




Love and Vodka-a book of poetry for glass hearts

By Christina Strigas

Genre: Poetry

If poetry is sheer madness and exuberance, word is wine to the mind. A dash of emotions, oodles of sensuality gently caressing the mind, sheer passion running through the soul and it tastes like the hurricane force of intimacy. Love and Vodka is the gentle breeze that captures everything aesthetic as the author invites you inside her world and emotions running deep through modern love, resist, love, dirty talks, tug of war and see you anon. The book takes you by storm and doesn’t leave any shred of emotion unturned, flinging right in front of your fate and existence. In one shot, it’s exuberance in all its forms.


Christina’s choice of words is fearless and limitless making the soul alive and vibrant in all its forms. There is no limit to anything yet it embraces everything. The ‘conversations with my daughter’ is gentle and removes all burdens of past, present, and future where gap is just a word that society imposes as a stamp. Words that simply cuddle you and snuggle into the arms of an invisible love reaffirm the faith in sheer madness and messy. Be real. Christina sends a gentle but provocative message. Her words provoke and push you to an octane level, whether making love, caress or fuck.

‘If you could fuck just dare

to fuck the art in me.

The kind of sex

That would put us

Both on fire.’

She is unabashedly unapologetic and her words create a stormy furor inside the mind and body. Outrageous would be an understatement yet we love it like the wind shaking our roots violently. The tales of cities be it Brooklyn, New York or Montreal builds a visual image of free spirited soul, unshaken by boundary to embrace love, sorrow or sheer intimacy. At times, the words weaved are poignant and arcane. The writer takes you on the wide roads and cities teemed with the bustling crowd to explore the You with passion. ‘Death’ brings you face to face with the reality that you avoid with comfort but punch you hard. It knocks you down. The world becomes a dreaded existence.

It’s one sentence, simple but pregnant with meaning: ‘You can’t break up with a soul mate’. How many of us reflect on it but shrug it off? It’s the reality, the tale of our lives. The bond is deep and eternal beyond lives.

As she depicts her city or cities she lives in, a flurry of emotions pans out and paralyzes the soul that we were and cherishing the words as if our universe has stopped in an abrupt manner. The moment of joy, craving for lust and breeze that kiss our skin to make it a living experience.

‘Naked before you…snug top…words between us like sand in an ocean…naked and embrace the demons talk to them.’

Isn’t it enticing and mysterious at the same time like the reality of life sounding like a mere illusion?

The segment ‘Dirty Talk’ transgresses the bodies and skins to make it the truth serum for the soul, hardness, stiffness, and sex expressed in art form. Lust can be aesthetic. Words that cover not just the body but the love, craving for a fuck, enslaved but caught in the flurry of intense emotions. It’s a masturbation but of the mind.

‘When you fuck me,

We still make love…Do you want to fuck me?

Like what?

So honestly.

Do I make you wet?’

There is a certain honesty that many of us are shy to ask and it’s a crude form of art that shakes us off our comfort zone. The human identity is given wing and reality told in a blunt manner.  In ‘Lines of Insanity’, Christina explores the shaky existence that we take pride in and reminds us how we stop living to become dead souls.

There is ‘see you anon’ where the author treads on earth, souls and the end of it. Death can be intense and the fallacy of existence is treated in such a powerful manner through prose.

‘It is when the coffin settles, the sculpted wood evaporates, the mud dries on our boots.’

It’s about live life on the edge, tromping dangerously with ‘weeds’ making rhyme and love to make one’s mind dance and swirl to heavenly bliss.

The poem ‘Ticket Train’ is the abstract observation of life and painting of the flow of human emotions depicting love affairs, murder, rape and the death of a cat that pricks the skin and sends shudder down the spine. There is pain that overpowers the soul as we wonder where one stands at the juncture.

Christina’s ‘12 steps to writing is a real gem, one after the other, exploring the nuances of words and is sensual art on canvas to make writing simplistic yet intensely beautiful. The writer has a gift, ‘For You, The Reader’ which tastes like honey, unbridled and mystic sensuality that flow like ink kissing the naked soul. The writer traverses minds to make poetry unabashedly sexy.

Final words:

In short, Christina Strigas through her book, ‘Love and Vodka’ takes her readers on a trance and a journey of illusion. I never know that illusion and imagination could look so beautiful and enticing. A brilliant poetry collection that will stoke your creative bulb and make minds steamy, transgressing barriers.


You can the buy the book on Amazon. The author can be contacted on her website. Connect with her on Twitter and Facebook.




My city, my heart and limitless heights

Glittering lights,

soaring to limitless heights,

Chaos is thy name,




home to the homeless,

dash of rainbow,

sprinkle of rain,

mad rush,

where hope is worn on the sleeve,

I wear my city on my heart,

for it doesn’t know how to stop

it’s our universe,

giving us opportunity in abundance

love can be an obsession

my city shows how

it has a place and space for everyone,

doing things off limit

the slowest gathers pace in the city

it runs in our veins.




Tales in cramped boxes

Hiding thousand stories behind closed doors,

Decrepit houses and worn out emotions,

as the car swirls off the flyover,

leaving lives behind

Clothes dried on window panel

Various tales in cramped boxes

Untold life

happiness, bruise, scars and struggles

Lesser mortals we chose to ignore at the highway,

sheltered inside as the door bangs open every monsoon

yelp of a baby,

cry of a battered wife

a father’s prayer to feed mouths

Starving inside

the world may choose to ignore,

stark reality of lives

sordid affairs in maximum city

siren of pressure cooker

rains washing away emotions and sins




Mask of eternity


Image credit: Google

Only if the face could talk

hiding the real expressions,

genuine emotions

a mere facade to the world





scared to show the self in its full form to the world

wearing a brazen emotion

is the biggest lie our body language speaks

vulnerable us

after all, the cloak is our protection gear

Be real

an oft-repeated lie

hiding the face everyone wants to unravel,

A mask of eternity

is our reality

nothing more, nothing less

the truth shall be too painful to bear and endure


bedazzled with stains







Unsettled heart

Fish swimming in the bowl

Cooing pigeons nestled inside the home nest

A loner snuggled in thick blanket

craving for a cup of steamy tea flowing in the matka

Imagery stroking the mind

Winter creeping in

Mind wandering to the past and glorious days

Memory is as fickle as the brain

A lazy Sunday where whimsical feelings fly like birds,

in search of the abode

Unsettled heart,

aimless destination

homeless pigeon in search of finality.

Chaotic existence

With love






The bridge woman


Image credit: Google

Peachy skin.

She stood alone at the bridge waiting for her suitor

She was no ghost at midnight

Plain human

False promise

Broken and shattered inside

Her mind stopped like the clock in the past

Her hair bore streak of gray

The translucent beauty lost its sheen,

like the moon at nightfall

Scars remained etched in her heart

No sane soul would ever believe in love again

But, not her!

She was alien to the treachery

Every day, she lived in hope

He will come,

Her heart reasoned

One day, a speeding car hit her near the bridge

Blood ravaged her body and soul

It was his car

He finally came and ravaged her.

She was liberated from the agony.

Yet, in her last moments,

she nurtured hope.

His u-turn claimed her soul years ago,

she pinned for his love.